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<title>4 Times Michael tried to avoid Alex and Forrest + The one time he couldn't by flaming_molotov</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681189">4 Times Michael tried to avoid Alex and Forrest + The one time he couldn't</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_molotov/pseuds/flaming_molotov'>flaming_molotov</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>4 + 1 things, Angst, Communication, Fluff, Good Guy Forrest Long, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of the shed, THE threesome, Yikes, forlex fluff, malex fluff, mentions of the incident in 02x06, mentions of threesome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:48:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_molotov/pseuds/flaming_molotov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>so i made a post on tumblr saying that (despite the fact that i love michael) i think it's fair he suffers a bit while seeing forlex being all fond &amp; sweet. please don't take this as me hating on michael, it's not it, i just think his suffering is realistic and valid, i tried my best to portray it as such.<br/>hope you enjoy</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Forrest Long/Alex Manes, Michael Guerin &amp; Forrest Long, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Home in your arms</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so i made a post on tumblr saying that (despite the fact that i love michael) i think it's fair he suffers a bit while seeing forlex being all fond &amp; sweet. please don't take this as me hating on michael, it's not it, i just think his suffering is realistic and valid, i tried my best to portray it as such.<br/>hope you enjoy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p><p>Michael was fine. He really was. He was making an active effort to work his shifts at Sander’s Auto from start to finish religiously and he was looking into AA meetings since Liz brought up the idea as he could make “a good company to Rosa”, a way to coincidently deal with his own forsaken problems. Also, he was spending all of his free time (not including alien shenanigans related things aka the Mr. Jones issue) with his siblings, quality time with the not-so-twins Evans twins brought memories of a once inseparable trio. Isobel’s smile and Max’s care-free laughter act as a balm to all the trauma he had to endure to be where he is right at this very moment. All the wounds he’d scratched open time and time again seem to fade as his skin makes its path to healing. And perhaps one day they’ll heal. </p><p>Such memories that, thus, make him reminisce moments he wished to put aside for his own well-being. No such luck since in the flesh was the source of all of’em walking hand in hand with a blue-haired historian on the opposite direction of the side-walk he found himself. Turning his back on such scene wasn’t evidence of his bitterness, nor it was an evidence of him walking away from Alex Manes himself. No, it wasn’t it. This was Michael looking out for himself, sparing the last few of his ragged heartstrings from breaking completely. He wasn’t actively avoiding the man himself, just the reminder that he possibly brought on himself the thud in his heart and how it crumbles, the pieces that make a bundle inside his stomach, and their heaviness every time he observes Alex and Forrest. </p><p>Maybe if he hadn’t been so quick to make the decision for Alex once walked towards the exit of The Wild Pony so adamantly that it was for the best. Maybe if he hadn’t assumed what was the best thing for Alex. Maybe if he had stuck around to see the man he loves sing the last words of the song he wrote about him, about them. Maybe if he had stayed. Maybe… </p><p>
  <i> Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. <i></i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He shakes his head vehemently. But none of it matters now, does it? He can’t change what he did. He made his bed months ago, doesn’t make it any easier to lie in it. Doesn’t mean he won’t beat himself up silently or that he will sleep any better knowing that if Alex falls in love with Forrest, that if he chooses him, then all of this personal growth would’ve been for nothing. Truth is: Alex finally walking away once and for all will kill him.<br/>
So he put both hands in his denim jacket, spins on his heels and walks away towards his pick-up knowing that this time he is doing it for his own benefit.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i> So much for having a quiet but greasy breakfast at the Crashdown.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>2.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>This is certainly not getting any easier<br/>
.<br/>
Practice makes perfect, right? There goes the saying but Michael Guerin would argue that if practice meant seeing the love of your life lighting up his whole face once he spots his current partner, then practice would be torture.<br/>
And the man isn’t one to enjoy torture. Not the kind where he isn’t naked and the softest moans fill the air. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>No, not really. So <i> practice<i> can fuck off.</i></i></i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>Though, in truth, he hadn’t had much of a choice lately. He can’t for the life of him understand why Alex keeps involving himself with his and his family’s alien bullshit. More than in one occasion, he found himself asking, <i> no <i>, begging Max and Isobel to stop involving Alex in their other-worldly problems even if they have everything to do with Earth. He tried to argue that the three of them would find a way to fix whatever this is. No such luck.</i></i></i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>Especially when one Captain Manes makes his absolute mission to dismantle what he addresses as his “family legacy”.</i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>Now here they are: outside a sinister cave with passages wide enough for a single person to walk through and no obstruction wide enough for the sun light to get in, to fix a problem that began light-years away, almost a century ago. The only legacy Michael’s species has ever left him was a creepy and more powerful clone of his own sibling who could’ve been consider a traitor to his own kind. Needless to say: you don’t choose your family legacy.</i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>Nevertheless, so called Mr. Jones, is as much of a mystery as he is a menace to this planet. Thus, the necessity of speed-dialing Alex about him. He gets it, but at the same time he wishes he could spare the airman just this once.<br/>
With every mediocre update on the alien problem there was this urgency to bring in the airman and Michael couldn’t help but wonder how his boyfriend was dealing with him sneaking away with feeble excuses to justify himself.  </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>Or perhaps Michael wanted to spare himself. </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>Right now Alex is on the phone, a few feet away from him, and even though he can’t decipher what the conversation is about, he knows the man is talking to<i> Forrest Long <i>. The signs are too obvious to ignore. From Alex excusing himself with the brightest smile he only shares with Michael in rare occasions these days (not that they have seen each other a lot) to the way he laughs and paces in circles like a teenage boy on the phone with his boyfriend. It hurts too much. It makes him want to throw his arms in the air and say “fuck it” as the Earth burns down with whatever threat Mr. Jones represents.  </i></i></i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                <i>But he can’t. So he just sits atop of a rock closest to the entrance of the cave and prays the next valuable update about the alien situation doesn’t come in too soon.</i>
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                <i>3. </i>
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                <i>The six PM sun beams sufficiently through the softest of clouds at this fine Thursday evening to irradiate the Crashdown’s windows ever so slightly. Michael hadn’t felt this peaceful in a long time although it isn’t clear why peace decided to grace him today of all days. The colors of the sky might have to do with his peacefulness: blood orange and pink, a painting with the softest hint of white as clouds. Michael was transfixed by the change of colors he barely notices when the bell above the entrance of the diner rang. Barely.</i>
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                <i>Peace was always temporary.</i>
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
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  <i>
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              <i>
                <i>There stood Forrest Long in all his historian-emo-sex-appeal approaching the counter. The cowboy felt the skin on his arms itch. He knew for a fact he couldn’t be allergic to a single human being but it was the closest thing he could compare to. He should be happy for Alex, the man he knew and loved was being cared for and… loved? There it is, the tug in his heart again. He could never admit to another soul but seeing someone being so earnest and loving to the object of the affection he carried within himself like chains to his ankles made him analyze every decision he took that culminated in being a step further from Alex. It made something akin to longing spread through his veins as regret rip through his every trembling breath.</i>
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                <i> He fought the urge to be on his feet and stroll towards the blue-haired man and bit his tongue not to make any distasteful comments. He fought way too damned hard to throw all his personal growth and the progress he made with Alex. </i>
              </i>
            </i>
          </i>
        </i>
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    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>
              <i>
                <i>
                  <i> Alex. <i></i></i>
                </i>
              </i>
            </i>
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                  <i>
                    <i>He looked so happy these days Michael couldn’t help the tiniest curves that formed on his own lips when Alex smiled. He should be happy for Alex. But he can’t. It’s been six months now, though it seemed like an eternity. Almost six months since he walked away from The Wild Pony and <i> “Forlex” <i>, as Isobel calls, seem (seems?) as strong as ever.  He was struggling to find a place within Alex’s circle and he knew a life with Alex being exclusively a person he could only be platonically intimate was better than a life without Alex. Still, he couldn’t help his own whirlwind of spiraling yearning every time he saw the couple together.  </i></i></i>
                  </i>
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</p><p>
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                  <i>
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                      <i>
                        <i> Time seemed to sit still for a moment but eventually Forrest’s gaze fell upon him as the man idly checked his surroundings. Then in a matter of seconds, he whips his head towards Michael’s direction. Shit. No way they can both escape from this torturously awkward interaction without appearing rude. </i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
                  </i>
                </i>
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</p><p>
  <i>
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              <i>
                <i>
                  <i>
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                      <i>
                        <i>It’s not that Michael dislikes Forrest but he doesn’t necessarily like him either. He tolerates him while offering a polite at best. Despite the fact that all his ill emotions in relation to Forrest have everything to do with being Alex’s boyfriend, his efforts to have a relationship with the Long’s off-spring is for Alex’s sake and, when being completely honest, he knows it’s the grown-up thing to do. Whatever. </i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
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                        <i>Under different circumstances he reckons he and Forrest would be good friends. But that ain’t happening any time soon so polite acquaintances for the sake of a-man-they-are both-in-love-with it is. Michael is so distracted by his thoughts he doesn’t notice Forrest standing by his booth holding a massive brown paper-bag, leaning against another one opposite side of where he is.</i>
                      </i>
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</p><p>
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                      <i>
                        <i>“Hey”, the historian mutters unrobed of his ever-present confidence</i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
                  </i>
                </i>
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                      <i>
                        <i>“Hey”, he says back, pathetically, he proceeds to clear his throat, “Where’s Alex?”</i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
                  </i>
                </i>
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                        <i>Forrest smiles as he bows his head slightly and replies: “Going home. I’m meeting him there with some burgers and milkshake. And, of course, fries too”, he giggled the bag</i>
                      </i>
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                        <i>“Good”, Michael mustered a small smile</i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
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                      <i>
                        <i>The other man requited with another smile, this one was embedded in fondness. Michael had to look away, too afraid his eyes would betray how we was <i> really <i> feeling.</i></i></i>
                      </i>
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                          <i>
                            <i>“It was good seeing you, Michael”, Forrest states as if they are not doing this to be cordial. Michael manages a single nod and Forrest goes about his say, or end of it.  </i>
                          </i>
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                            <i> It wasn’t getting any easier but now Michael could get a better grip on his own emotions before they got the best of him. </i>
                          </i>
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                        <i>
                          <i>
                            <i>4.</i>
                          </i>
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                            <i>If anyone had asked Michael a couple of years ago if he had an Instagram account he would have outright barked an amused laugh. Though having a social media account now it’s his new normal. Truth is: he is Isobel Evans’s sibling, for better or for worse and by worse it meant downloading an overrated app filled with self-centered humans who cared about nothing but appearances only to help her promote the Crashdown’s account. As if he had many followers besides the few people he had on his life, people who he could count on his fingers.</i>
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                            <i>Still, he knew better than to deny Isobel anything, especially when she is on a mission. Seemed like all people in his life were irreversibly stubborn. Figures. </i>
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                            <i>So now here he is: sprawled across the thin mattress inside the Airstream in this Saturday afternoon bored out of his mind since he tired himself looking for things to do to keep him entertained. He admitted defeat the moment the clock had struck 4 PM. Instagram it is. Fucking pathetic.</i>
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                          <i>
                            <i>Although the intellectual prick Michael Guerin who prided himself in not being a mindless creature surfing the web still hated the app and all it represented, he couldn’t help but get why humans liked it so much. There was a multitude of content raging between art to world-wide news, to quick funny videos to straight-up activism. It seemed like he had all the information in the world at the tip of his fingers in a simple format. </i>
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                            <i>And usually it made him feel less alone somehow</i>
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                            <i>At this very moment he finds himself cyber-stalking Rosa’s anonymous art account. The girl was talented, after all, it was very entertaining to observe her art and sometimes it was thought-provoking. Once he ran out photos to like in her account, he tapped the home button, his boredom subsiding slightly.</i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
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                            <i>And then a photo appears, two very familiar faces, one too familiar yet thoroughly missed these days. The photo showed Alex and Forrest, sun glasses on, sat at seemingly very adorned and dark metal chairs, a white-clothed table with equally white cups and ceramic plates. He stared at it for a few seconds, taking in the image. It was from Alex’s Instagram account. Until now he hadn’t known he followed him. What a terrific way to find out. </i>
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                            <i>If he didn’t know them personally he could’ve mistaken them for a couple of friends. Except from the way they were touching from shoulders to wrists, hips to ankles, side by side; the way they seem to lean into each other’s space effortlessly and bright smiles across their faces. Dejected but not quite done with the self-sabotage, Michael glanced at the caption: <i> “Coffee dates are the best dates 💜”. </i></i>
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                                <i>He blocked the screen to prevent himself from prodding further and rested his hand clutching his phone over his heart. He was getting better at dealing with the couple, though he seemed to try to avoid meeting them by himself, instead he only was around them if accompanied by his other friends (and his siblings). Alex and Forrest were about to hit the 8th month mark and Michael grew more hopeless with every passing day.</i>
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                              <i>
                                <i>It wasn’t getting any easier.            </i>
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                                <i>+1</i>
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                                <i>The day was very long. Michael craved a drink.</i>
                              </i>
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                              <i>
                                <i>It all started when he overslept, disrupting his recent but perfect employee record. A blunt knock at his trailer’s door. Ever sweet and ginger was Walt Sanders startling him out of slumber. Then he had to work without breakfast since Sanders had his hands full with the amount of malfunctioning vehicles in the shop. “I have one eye, kid. Do the rest of your morning hours then get yourself a proper meal before you faint”, grumbled the old man. </i>
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                                <i>Apparently the both of them shared a particularly sour mood. It was only a couple of hours before his lunch-break, he just had to suck it up until then. </i>
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                                <i>But of course, life had diverging plans. Instead of grabbing a meal to-go at the Crashdown he opted for a less than fulfilling meal somewhere else since the diner was packed. Then he was back at work arguing with Mr. Thompson because of the stupid old piece of garbage that was his old van. Dude was old as balls but still insisted in driving that junk once a week around town, it was utterly useless: his children were all adults and he was a widower. Try convincing him of that much, though. He’ll spit back offenses and refuse to pay you for your services.</i>
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                                <i>Finally, when he clocked out he decided he wanted, no, deserved a drink. It conflicted with all his progress, his therapist would say, because now he is a person who has a therapist. Margaret would be all up in his business in the next session but that was a small price to pay for undoing his progress of almost ten months. Well, right now he doesn’t give a shit and it was one drink after all. A single drink.</i>
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                                <i>He parked in the yet-to-be filled parking lot of The Wild Pony, killed the ignition, opened the door and proceeded to slam it shut; his poor truck was a target of his wrath. Still better than some poor sucker that came to have calm night in the local bar, he knew that much.</i>
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                                <i>He strode towards the entrance breathing a little easier. Who knew those fuckers would ever give him a sense of peace? He was dragging himself towards his usual wooden stool when his body stilled.   </i>
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                                <i>Alex was all soft laughter and crinkles in his eyes as Forrest was uninterruptedly babbling about whatever Forrest talks about anyway, and subsequently down the rest of his beer.</i>
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                                <i>Michael took off his black cowboy hat and leaned it over his wounded heart as if he could shield the million razor blades that cut through it as he watched the two men stare blatantly at each other as the rest of the world melted away. He couldn’t do it anymore, he felt his eyes prickling with tears and he shallowed the sobs that arose in his throat. He couldn’t do it. He turned around dejectedly, put his hat over his head and strode to the door. At corner of his eye he could see movement from where he spotted the two men and he prayed for mercy on his soul, for none of them to have noticed him. </i>
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                                <i>Once he was outside, the arid atmosphere of Roswell filled his lungs and for a brief moment he could breathe. Then he brought the heels of his palms to his eyes. He’d have to move from Roswell, he had to pack all of his shit, leave his siblings behind, get on the road to who the fuck knows? Texas? Fuck. </i>
                              </i>
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                                <i>A very familiar voice calling his name disrupted his frantic train of thought.</i>
                              </i>
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                              <i>
                                <i>“Guerin!”, shouted none other than Alex Manes, half walking and half running to his direction, “Wait up”</i>
                              </i>
                            </i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
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                                <i>“What, Alex?”, he didn’t mean to sound so dejected but he didn’t have an ounce of energy to pretend anymore </i>
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                              <i>
                                <i>“Is something wrong?”, the airman’s eyes were so soft yet full of concern, his gaze was focused</i>
                              </i>
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                                <i>
                                  <i> “Is something wrong”, he asked. <i> Fucks sake, he was going to be the end of Michael. And the ravage would be merciless. </i></i>
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                            </i>
                          </i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>“Everything’s fine, Alex”</i>
                                  </i>
                                </i>
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                            </i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>“C’mon”, Alex probed, “talk to me”, he offered a small smile as if the chaos inside Michael would subside. It did, shy of a fraction. </i>
                                  </i>
                                </i>
                              </i>
                            </i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
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                    </i>
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                                <i>
                                  <i>
                                    <i>“I really can’t”, he winced at the crack in his own voice after he uttered those words</i>
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                        </i>
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                                <i>
                                  <i>
                                    <i>“Guerin-“</i>
                                  </i>
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                            </i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
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                                <i>
                                  <i>
                                    <i>“Goodnight, Alex”, he trudged past Alex, unintentionally shouldering him. He was about to unlock the door on the driver’s side when Alex confessed:</i>
                                  </i>
                                </i>
                              </i>
                            </i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
                  </i>
                </i>
              </i>
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          </i>
        </i>
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                          <i>
                            <i>
                              <i>
                                <i>
                                  <i>
                                    <i>“I was hoping to find you here today”. </i>
                                  </i>
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                            </i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>Michael stared at him, surprised, he then inquired: “Why?”</i>
                                  </i>
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                          </i>
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                    </i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>“I thought we could talk”, he replied</i>
                                  </i>
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                    </i>
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                                <i>
                                  <i>
                                    <i>“About what?”, he didn’t mean to be impolite, least of all blunt and rude but it was getting harder and harder to control his temper</i>
                                  </i>
                                </i>
                              </i>
                            </i>
                          </i>
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                    </i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>“Whoa, Guerin”, Alex said putting both hands up in mock surrender, “I’m not trying to upset you” </i>
                                  </i>
                                </i>
                              </i>
                            </i>
                          </i>
                        </i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
                  </i>
                </i>
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          </i>
        </i>
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                        <i>
                          <i>
                            <i>
                              <i>
                                <i>
                                  <i>
                                    <i>He was right. Michael was snapping without meaning to. He was pushing Alex away again.</i>
                                  </i>
                                </i>
                              </i>
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                          </i>
                        </i>
                      </i>
                    </i>
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                                    <i>“Sorry”, he took a deep breath and continued, “Had a rough day”</i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>“I’m sorry about that”, the airman offered his sympathy </i>
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                                    <i>“Yeah”, he breathed out</i>
                                  </i>
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                                    <i>“Is that why you’re upset?”</i>
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                                    <i>Michael could’ve lied; tell him “yes” and called it a night. He probably should have but then again, omitting things from Alex proved to be a challenge, especially his own overwhelming feelings for the man in question. He didn’t want to recriminate him for a choice he practically offered in a silver platter, above all, he didn’t want to resent him.  Maybe his time for raw and terrifying sincerity was due and if it cost the rest of his heart then so be it; he doesn’t have any fight in him anymore. </i>
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                                  <i>
                                    <i>“I tried to be happy for you, Alex”, the cowboy blurted out, “I tried and as it turns out I’m fucking miserable at it. I’m not like you, I’m not selfless. <i> I am selfish <i>"</i></i></i>
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                                        <i>Alex looked like he wanted to argue, like he selflessly would, and save Michael from the pity party he was throwing, but relented. He waited for Michael to proceed with his confession.  </i>
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                                        <i> “You’re happy and I’m miserable. I made a choice for you, I let you go. And it was a shitty one. And I can’t help- I can’t help but be miserable and let it show. I’m fucking selfish, and I know it. The worst fucking part is that I deserve it. I do”, he shrugged while embarrassingly letting his tears fall. “I ruin every good thing in my life sooner or later. You did good moving on”</i>
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                                        <i>“Are you done?”, despite Alex’s stern tone and crossed arms, his eyes betrayed him, as always. Brown glassy eyes searched his face. </i>
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                                        <i>Michael just looked at him with wet pleading eyes silently begging him for mercy, waiting for any sign he wouldn’t take this moment to present every reason why Michael should shut the fuck up and lie in the bed he made, like he forced Alex to, all those months ago.  “Karma is a bitch”, as Maria would say. Then he saw Alex deflate. </i>
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                                        <i>“Do you know why I was hoping I’d find you here?”, he asked. But before Michael could carry own with humiliating himself with more pitiful comments, he spoke: “Because for last week or so I chickened out, Michael. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid. I was afraid you did the right thing in letting me go. That I had a good thing with Forrest and I should make it work”, he let a self-deprecating laugh, “I was afraid I ruined something good by coming clean about my feelings for you. But of course he already knew. He is a smart man and no matter how hard I tried he’d always seem to smell my bullshit from a mile away”, he shrugged, “Guess I know how you felt now. And I’m guessing you know how I felt”</i>
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                                        <i>Michael was quietly absorbing Alex’s words, the good and the bad. And the other man, patient as always, let him do it in his own time. </i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>“So why are you here? I mean- here, right now”, he asked cautiously, bracing for the worst</i>
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                                        <i>Alex inhaled shakily and said: “You know why”</i>
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                                        <i>“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t be asking. Alien genius and all”, he retorted</i>
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                                        <i>The airman rolled his eyes and breathed out at last. Then stillness prevailed for what seemed like hours but were only seconds until…</i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>“I love you”, he said. Short sentence, gaping emotions. </i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>“So you and Forrest broke-up, I take it”, he blurted out. He immediately wanted to take back, fearing he made more of a fool of himself amidst wondering if that was even possible at this point. The other man laughed genuinely and tears spilled from his face, and Michael relaxed.  </i>
                                      </i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>“Yeah, we did. It was a mutual decision”, Alex stated</i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>“Good”, it was all he managed to say before spilling more tears of his own, “But like what is he doing here with you- I mean, he doesn’t strike me as the self-destructive type of angsty emo”</i>
                                      </i>
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                                        <i>Alex laughed again. God, Michael loved that sound so much. </i>
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                                    <i>
                                      <i>
                                        <i>“He is here as a friend. I needed someone here for support, he offered, no one else was available and honestly? I wanted him here. He means a lot to me.”</i>
                                      </i>
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                                        <i>Michael for once didn’t let jealousy get the best of him and felt relief in knowing Alex could count Forrest as a friend now. He deserves all the good friends in the world.</i>
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                                        <i>“Am I that scary to face, Private?”, he attempted to keep the mood light</i>
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                                    <i>
                                      <i>
                                        <i>“Not you. Just… the feelings. And up until now I was betting on gut feeling you weren’t over me- Us, I wasn’t sure. So putting up the brave face wasn’t easy. Not that I actually planned for it to go this way, I was hoping to start with a casual conversation. Guess we’re still trying to get that right”</i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>Michael had to agree with that. They weren’t good at casually talking. The irony. </i>
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                                      <i>
                                        <i>“So…”, Michael kicked the gravel under his feet, “when are you free to like catch up and stuff. Figured we have a lot to talk about”</i>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. To Trade Your Broken Wings For Mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>michael and alex and their first talk about their tumultuous past and the first step towards a relationship</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>soooooooooo it took me a long ass time to write the continuation because one (1) person asked me too and i mean it's all the motivation i needed to carry this on even further.<br/>anyways i hope i did them justice with this conversation <br/>ALSO i never said this before and i don't know why i feel compelled to do so but english is not my first language, so if something sounds weird well, it might because of that. or because i made a stupid mistake, who know<br/>title from All Night by Beyoncé</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Right now?”, Michael repeated, his pitch higher than before due to his incredulity </p><p>“Yeah… I mean, you got somethin’ better to do?”, Alex answered him simply, “look, this is long overdue, right? But I’m not in a hurry exactly, so if you want to this some other day, it’s fine by me”, he offered a smile and shrugged softly</p><p>“Okay”</p><p>“Okay…”, the airman narrowed his eyes </p><p>“Yeah, I was here just for a drink”, he explained</p><p>“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore”, the airman inquired, hints of concern slipping through his casual demeanor, Michael justified that indeed he had a long day and just sauntered towards his car, he looked over his shoulder and saw Alex still, bewildered and frowning. They really had communication issues. </p><p>“’re you coming?”, Michael drawled </p><p>Alex huffed a laugh and walked to his truck, opening the passenger’s door. Michael started his car as the other man fastened the seatbelt and gave Michael a very Serious-Arched-Brow-Not-Impressed-Alex-look when he noticed he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. Michael hurried clumsily to do the same. Fastened and secured both men started to chat about their weeks: work, leisure and etc. Then, at last, the alien cowboy realized:</p><p>“Wait, I don’t know where we are going. Where are we going?”</p><p>“How do you feel about going to my place? I mean, you did help me move in, it’s only fair you finally visit it” </p><p>“Sure”, Michael turned to Alex and attempted to suppress a goofy smile. He wasn’t successful </p><p>They carried on with chatter, occasionally pausing so Alex could instruct him to get to Alex’s new house. Selling the Manes brothers’ childhood home was a cathartic experience for all of them in different measures. No matter if Alex granted his deceased father his forgiveness or denied it (for things he’d never be sorry for), moving out, parting from every material memory of his father felt like starting anew. And damn if Michael wasn’t proud of his friend. </p><p>“We’re here”, Alex announced </p><p>Michael swiftly killed the ignition, took off his seatbelt and hopped out of the truck. Meanwhile, Alex was calmly balancing himself out of the passenger seat then gently closing it and walking to the entrance of his new home. The contrast between the two was jarring and for a moment it worsened his anxieties. How was Alex so calm? He followed close behind and once the other man unlocked the door, turned the lights on the cowboy observed his living-room. It was slightly smaller than his previous house but every inch of it seemed to be painstakingly filled with an ambience that was so Alex. From the brown leather sofa, to the guitar leaning against the cream-colored walls close to the dark-metal rectangle shaped fireplace and, of course, to the security cameras. Michael was speechless. </p><p>“Home sweet home”, Alex said, though his tone was a sarcastic one, Michael knew he meant it. He tossed his keys onto a white bowl on dark brown cabinet beside the door. </p><p>“Can I get you something to drink?”, the airman offered, already succeeding at being a mindful host</p><p>“Beer is fine”, the airman muttered, still taking in his surroundings </p><p>Truthfully Michael’s insides were starting to liquefy, blood and organs melting, becoming a strange form of goo. His life choices were being severely criticized by the nagging voice in his head: how could he ever be enough for this man? He had a house, a new job, he was an Air Force Captain, no matter how much Michael hated the military and it’s branches, there was no way of denying that was a pretty big deal. He had Forrest, the man was a retired veteran too, and a historian from Christ sake. Michael was a barely hired mechanic who lived in a trailer. Talk about comparison. He jumped at the sight of something at the corner of his eye. A beer.</p><p>“Woah, Guerin, are you ok?”</p><p>“Yeah”, he lied, and as if his eyes didn’t show his panic, his erratic breathing would probably had given him away   </p><p>“Breathe, Michael. In through the nose and out through the mouth”, Alex instructed as he placed his hand over his shoulder and squeezed it tenderly, staring into Michael’s very soul. His eyes were so soft, the soft yellow lights overhead highlighted the specks of gold in his brown eyes. The night was almost settled, the blood orange and reds fading, being replaced by the dark purples and blues. Michael felt his breathing ease. </p><p>“There you go”, the other man cooed, “that’s better. Now sit, please”, he patted the cushion next to him as he sat down. Michael followed suit, clutching the neck of his beer.<br/>“Wanna talk about what set you off?”, he inquired gently </p><p>“I, uh”, he stumbled with his words trying to dismiss it but refusing to do so, “I panicked? You have like, this nice well payed job, a house and… this confidence, this whole new atmosphere around you and I-“, the took a deep soothing breath, “I don’t know what to offer. Don’t know if I have anything to”</p><p>“Michael-“</p><p>“It’s not just that, I mean, I’m better now but I was a dick to you last year and you were just trying to help. And you stayed. Like-“, he rambled</p><p>“Michael”, said Alex, his voice stern. Michael snapped his head to his direction, scared he said something wrong but Alex’s expression indicated nothing of the sorts. </p><p>“You don’t have to offer me anything, like material-wise. My feelings for you have nothing to do with what you can provide for me financially. Emotionally it’s a whole ‘nother story, y’know? You’ve been a good friend, even if you kept your distance, I understood. We have too much baggage, our history. Maybe you needed time to separate yourself from being my friend and also being your own person, dealing with your own stuff”, Alex explained, “and I don’t want you as a friend, not just that anyways, Michael, you know that. And I think we can figure out how to be that for the other”, he smiled then straightened his posture, “were you a dick to me? Yeah, you were, but I was also a dick to you too. Like when I got back? It was messed up. I let you come closer only to push you away, always giving mixed signals. I’m sorry for that and all the times I made you feel like less only because I was afraid. Not saying two wrongs make a right, I’m saying I can forgive you for hurting me. I hope you can forgive me too”</p><p>Michael felt so much but most of all he felt the knots of his grudges loose. He was willing to let them go. He took a swig of his beer, trying to burn some of his nerves.</p><p> “If you told past-year me that, I don’t know if he’d be able to give you a good answer”, he says as he placed the bottle over the coaster (because of course Alex has those), “but current me? Yeah he can forgive you. I can forgive you. I’m not saying it’s gonna be right away, I don’t expect you to forgive me right away either. The shit I pulled over the years? Messed up too. I too, pushed you away, way too many times in my life. Fuck, I dated your best friend and we had a thre-“</p><p>“Please don’t talk about that right now. In fact, never talk about that”, Alex interrupted, his face screwed in disgust</p><p>“Yeah. Not my favorite memory of us either. It was weird, sure at the time I went along with it, but looking at it right now, it’s just-“</p><p>“Wrong”</p><p>“Yeah”, Michael agreed, “especially to you, though. God it was messed up. I had thought about threesomes, that was not what I had in mind”, suddenly Michael regretted derailing to such topic, given the heat that started to emanate from his belly (not exactly appropriate to think about Alex and threesomes at the moment), “Anyways” he saved those thoughts for later, “I’m sorry about that. And for being a dick to you like whenever. The truth is: yeah, it hurt every time you left, it hurt like a bitch. I was sad and angry and being honest I started to think you never loved me at all”</p><p>Michael noticed the way Alex seemed to have tensed up to the sound of those words, and held his hand</p><p>“But it was wrong of me to ask you to stay anyways. Of course I wanted you to. I wanted to be with you, I wanted that more than anything” he squeezed Alex’s hand, “and if I had ever asked properly maybe I could’ve justified being so pissed at you. But I never did. I just knew you were going leave and I’d push you harder. I couldn’t make you stay. I wasn’t enough, but more than that, I was angrier at the fact that I was alone again. I didn’t want to be alone”, he let himself shed the tears that were dammed behind his waterline, “I know sometimes the stuff you said could’ve be read as giving me false hope over the years but you never said you would”, he cleared his throat, “Logically, I knew I wasn’t alone. But that’s how I felt, everyone seemed to have someone except for me. I wanted that someone to be you but I never asked. Can’t help but wonder if it’d have changed anything if I had”</p><p>Alex interlaced their fingers as he said: “I don’t know. I’d be happy but I’d be scared shitless too”, Alex let himself cry too, “It was what I wanted too but after what my father did, I-“, he breathed in and out, “I couldn’t let him hurt you, I had to protect you. But being with me jeopardized that. You can see why I was conflicted. Also a bit of internal homophobia and self-hatred”, he joked </p><p>They both laughed and cried for they knew it was true and more than just a bit. Wiping his tears away the cowboy said:</p><p>“This was nice… in a weird way. I want to keep doing this like, in the foreseeable future”</p><p>“Yeah?”, Alex answered with a query </p><p>“As many as necessary”, he stated, “And, Alex?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I love you too”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>feel free to share your thoughts and/or critiques with me!<br/>also i'm on tumblr @chillyourtitseatnoodles</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thoughts? comments? feedbacks? concerns? i'm all ears<br/>i'm on tumblr @chillyourtitseatnoodles</p></blockquote></div></div>
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